‘You can prove all this, little friar?’
‘Oh yes, Sir John. But I haven’t marshalled my thoughts yet. They are running round my mind like rabbits in a corn field. I have to impose some order and trap this assassin. What I want you to do is go down to the Savoy and ask the Regent to bring some archers. Seek out Sir Maurice and Aspinall, bring them to Hawkmere Manor.’ He nodded at the empty tankard. ‘I think you should go now, Sir John.’
The coroner was about to object but Athelstan grasped his podgy fingers.
‘We’ll meet again, Sir John, and celebrate the Lady Angelica’s betrothal.’
Sir John got to his feet and turned his face up to catch the sun. This was happiness, he thought. He just wished Maude and the poppets were here. The brave boys would love the fish and Lady Maude would be out listing the flowers and herbs, loudly wondering whether she could have the same in their garden. A small cloud passed over the sun.
‘I never asked this, Athelstan, but do you think they could still move you from Southwark?’
‘They have,’ Athelstan replied. He saw his friend’s jaw drop. ‘But,’ the friar added hastily, ‘I am here, Sir John, this is my life. Now, go please! We have an assassin to trap.’
The coroner, huffing and puffing, waddled back into the tavern. There was a squeal and Athelstan realised the coroner must have caught the tavemer’s wife and given her a kiss. The friar stared at the small, golden fish darting among the reeds. How was it to be done? The tavemer’s wife came out with another tankard. He drank it rather quickly and, before he knew it, he leaned back against the turf seat and fell into a deep sleep.
He woke refreshed and realised it must be mid-aftemoon. Yet he was in no hurry. It would take Sir John some considerable time to organise the Regent.
In fact, Athelstan was quite surprised when he reached Hawkmere to find Gaunt’s retainers had taken over the manor. Men-at-arms stood at the gateway while his archers patrolled the parapet walk. The Regent himself, Sir Maurice beside him, was lounging in a chair on the dais in the hall. The Regent was wearing brown and green velvet and looked as if he had recently come from the chase. His hair was ruffled, his smooth face bore slight cuts from branches and his muddy boots were propped up on the table. He slouched in the high-backed chair, slicing an apple, popping pieces into his mouth. Now and again he would turn and playfully nudge Sir Maurice; Athelstan realised that Sir John’s prophecy had come true.
‘I am betrothed,’ Sir Maurice smiled as Athelstan came in. He welcomed the little friar with a bearlike hug. ‘We’ll be married by Michaelmas. In St Mary-Le-Bow. And you must be the celebrant.’
‘A good day’s work, Brother Athelstan!’ Gaunt called out, beckoning him closer. ‘How did you do it?’
‘My lord Regent, God works in wondrous ways, His wonders to perform.’
‘I’ll take your word for it, Brother.’ Gaunt’s eyes hardened as his gaze moved to the small musicians’ gallery at the far end of the hall.
Athelstan turned and looked but he could see nothing, since the gallery was hidden in shadows.
‘What have we got here?’ Gaunt asked.
‘Why, my lord Regent, the truth.’
‘Do you know something?’ Gaunt pointed at him. ‘You, my little friar, are a very dangerous man. Shall I tell you why?’
‘If you wish, my lord Regent.’
‘Because you see things, Athelstan. You have a love of logic, a hunger for the truth while people like myself can only echo Pilate and ask what is truth? So, do we have the truth here, Brother Athelstan?’
‘I think so, my lord, but…’
‘Ah, there you are!’ Sir John, accompanied by Gervase, walked into the hall. ‘I’ve just been up to see the prisoners. They are both frightened. Our other guests have not arrived yet.’
‘My guards, where are they?’ Gaunt asked.
‘Everywhere but the mice-holes. And there are some men dressed in gowns and hoods. They must be your men, Gervase?’
‘My lovely lads,’ the Keeper of the House of Secrets simpered back. ‘They go where I do and keep an eye on their patron. In fact, we are a most pleasing choir, be it a madrigal or the introit to a Mass.’
‘Shall we begin?’ Gaunt interrupted harshly.
‘I think we should,’ Athelstan replied. ‘Sir John, if you could seal the doors?’
‘Don’t we need the prisoners here?’ Gaunt asked.
‘No, my lord, at least not for the time being.’
‘Well,’ Gaunt waved his hand. ‘The truth, my good friar?’
‘The St Denis and St Sulpice,’ Athelstan began as Cranston closed the doors, ‘were two French warships, pirates, marauders in the Narrow Seas. They were like cats among the mice, snapping up the English merchantmen. You, Sir Maurice, sank one and captured the other.’
‘We know that,’ Gaunt drawled.
‘How did you capture them, Sir Maurice?’
‘I told you, Brother. I was in Dover when news arrived by messenger from London that the wine fleet would be leaving Calais. We were to put to sea and ensure its safe passage across. You know the rest.’ He spread his hands.
‘It was luck, wasn’t it?’ Athelstan asked, staring at Gaunt. Absolute good fortune that the English ships came upon the St Denis and St Sulpice. My lord Regent, Sir Gervase, the English had no spies aboard either ship, did they?’
Gaunt smiled to himself, Gervase looked away.
‘When the St Sulpice was brought into Dover,’ Athelstan continued, ‘and the prisoners taken ashore, the French officers were kept separate, weren’t they?’
‘Of course,’ Sir Maurice said. ‘It’s common practice!’
‘And you, Gervase, when they came here, visited them?’
‘Naturally, they might hold information which would be useful to us.’
‘And what did you find?’
Gervase now refused to meet his gaze.
‘Nothing.’
‘But you, my Lord of Gaunt, dropped hints, light as a feather, how this good fortune of war was really the result of treason among the French.’
Gervase glanced at the Regent; Gaunt picked up the apple core and chewed at it.
‘Go on, friar,’ he murmured.
‘My lord, you couldn’t believe your good fortune. Two of the most dangerous ships in the French navy had been destroyed or taken, their captains and officers either killed or captured. You had the prizes as well as the ransom money for the hostages but you decided there was more to win.’
Gaunt was now smiling to himself.
‘The spy Mercurius, the professional assassin at the French court, what a marvellous way to trap him! Let it be known, and I am sure you could do this through our envoys at the truce negotiations, that one of the prisoners at Hawkmere was one of your spies.’
‘Very good,’ Gervase commented. ‘Brother Athelstan, you really should work in the House of Secrets.’
‘You were playing with men’s lives,’ Athelstan went on. ‘The French court was furious that the spy, responsible for the destruction of two of their finest ships, could now look forward to honourable retirement as a pensioner in the Palace of the Savoy. Orders were issued and Mercurius began his bloody work.’
‘Brother, Brother.’ Gaunt shook his head in admiration as if they were playing chess or a game of hazard. ‘You forget these were French prisoners, they were held for ransom. If they die, I lose the money.’
‘A very small price, my lord. You invest one pound and recoup a treasure. The French would not use their deaths to break the truce. What would they care as long as the spy was destroyed?’
Sir Maurice looked bemused. He scratched his head and beat at the table-top.
‘But, Brother, who is Mercurius, where is he? How could he poison so expertly? Why kill that poor girl? And Maneil shot with a crossbow bolt?’
Athelstan ignored him.
‘My Lord of Gaunt, do I speak the truth?’
‘You do, Brother. “Put not your trust in Princes,” the psalmist says. Believe me, Athelstan, never were words so inspired. Outside of London the Great Community of the Realm conspires and plots. Across the Narrow Seas the French wait, ready to exploit any weakness. The St Sulpice and St Denis were captured by good luck and God’s good fortune. But, as the House of Secrets knows, Mercurius has done terrible mischief to our cause both here and abroad. A spy and an assassin, I wondered if he could be lured out into the open? When the prisoners began to die I knew I was correct. The French would kill them all, or some of them, until they believed they had avenged the insult. But the deaths themselves?’ Gaunt shook his head. ‘They are a mystery to me.’